An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (53 page)

Andrew nodded, but he reached for her right hand anyway. “Let me see if I can help.”

“No, really, you don’t—” But he had already taken her hand in both of his, gently working it with his thumbs. His hands felt sure around hers, gentle but toughened from work. She approved. Soft hands didn’t belong on a man.

She watched him, but his eyes were intent on her hand. Suddenly he looked up and smiled. “How’s that? Feel better?”

To her surprise, she did. “Why, yes, I do.” There was no pain at all. “How did you do that?”

“I just showed those pains who’s boss.” He smiled and held her gaze, and as he did, she felt the strangest sensation, a stirring—and then she realized he had finished rubbing her hand but was still holding it clasped in his own.

She pulled her hand away. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

He smiled at her again, so easy and comfortable, and the faint sensation—whatever it was—returned. What on earth was wrong with her? Perhaps Sarah was right and a trip to the doctor was in order.

She checked her watch, hoping the gesture wasn’t too artificial. “I’d better find Sarah. It’s about time to leave for Diane’s Zoning Commission hearing. Carol agreed to look after our guests while we’re gone.” Her voice was brisk, and so was her stride as she turned away from Andrew and went into the kitchen.

He followed. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, thank you. You’ve been such a big help already. You’ve earned yourself a rest.”

“You sound like my kids,” he said. “They’re always trying to push me into a rocking chair. There’ll be plenty of time to rest when I’m old.”

Sylvia couldn’t help smiling. Sarah and Matt used to give her that kind of talk, until she insisted they stop. “You’re a man after my own heart, Andrew.”

He caught her eye and grinned, but made no reply. She looked away, embarrassed. Somehow her words had come out differently than she had intended, almost flirtatious.

It was because she had grown so accustomed to Andrew’s presence, that was all. In the few weeks since his arrival, he had found a niche for himself at Elm Creek Manor. He fit in so naturally—assisting Matthew with his caretaking duties and generally helping out around the manor—that it was hard to believe he had been away so long and that more than fifty years had passed since she had last seen him.

Carol, too, was making a place for herself, though not as smoothly as Andrew had done, nor as quickly. After that first week, Sylvia had invited Carol to stay as a personal guest, refusing her offers of payment as adamantly as Andrew declined a room in the manor in favor of his motor home. In return, Carol insisted on earning her keep. She took over lunch and supper preparations, and before long added straightening up the attic to her duties. The room stretched the entire length of the south wing of the manor and was filled with trunks, boxes, and furniture. Sylvia had long put off sorting through the attic, since even with Sarah’s help it would have been a daunting task, but Carol enjoyed the challenge. Every few days she brought down a new treasure—a lamp, a vintage gown, a rocking chair—and after she or Andrew cleaned and repaired it, Carol found the perfect spot for it somewhere in the manor.

When Sylvia pointed out to Sarah that her mother was sparing them a great deal of work, Sarah said, “As long as she stays out of the way, she can keep busy however she likes.” Sylvia decided to interpret her reply optimistically, though it was far from a resounding shout of gratitude.

She found Sarah and Carol seated on the veranda with their backs to the doorway. Sylvia was so pleased to see them talking instead of arguing or ignoring each other that she hung back, unwilling to interrupt.

“Your uncles took most of Grandma’s quilts,” Carol was saying. “But they left a few for me. I have one on my bed now, one with stars in all different colors. I wish I’d thought to bring a picture. If I send you one, could you tell me what the pattern is?”

“Sure,” Sarah said, her eyes on the quilt block in her hands. “If I don’t know what it is, Sylvia will.”

“Thank you.”

They fell silent for so long that Sylvia was about to approach them, when Sarah suddenly spoke again. “Maybe it’s the same pattern Grandma used for my quilt.”

“Grandma made you a quilt?”

“Yes, don’t you remember? A pink-and-white Sawtooth Star quilt. She gave it to me for my eighth birthday.”

“Did she? I don’t recall seeing it on your bed.”

“Maybe that’s because you took it away from me as soon as I unwrapped it.” Sarah’s voice was cool. “You kept it in a box in your closet.”

“Are you sure? I don’t remember.” When Sarah merely shrugged, Carol added, “Why would I have done a thing like that?”

“You said it was too nice for everyday and that I would ruin it.”

Carol shook her head, bewildered. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You did. I remember it perfectly.”

Sylvia froze as Carol suddenly turned toward Sarah. She tentatively reached out a hand to her daughter, only to withdraw it when Sarah kept her attention on her sewing.

“Well,” Carol said quietly. “I don’t remember this, but if you say it happened, I believe you. I’m sorry.” She clasped her hands on the arm of her chair and studied them. “I wasn’t a perfect mother, but I did the best I could. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

Sarah put down her quilt block. “No, Dad wanted me to be happy. You wanted me to be perfect.”

Carol recoiled as if the words had scalded her. “I wanted you to be the best you could, to do better with your life than I had with mine. I still want that.”

“I’ve done fine, Mom. And so have you. You have your career, a child, friends, you had a great marriage to a wonderful man—”

“Sarah,” her mother broke in, “there’s so much you don’t know. You and I are so much alike, and I’m afraid—”

“We are nothing alike,” Sarah interrupted. “You and I couldn’t be more different. You think we’re the same, but we aren’t. We aren’t.”

Sylvia wished she had spoken up as soon as she had stepped onto the veranda, but as the conversation deteriorated, she had felt frozen in place, transfixed by the awful scene. Now she forced herself into action. “There you two are,” she said brightly, startling them as she strode forward. “It’s getting late. We have to get ready to meet the others downtown.” She heard the tremor in her voice and wondered if the two women detected it, if they could sense how sick she felt, disappointed and remorseful through to her very core. She’d had such good intentions for their reunion, but each day her hopes seemed more futile.

Sarah stood up. “I won’t be long.” Without another word or glance for Carol, she went inside.

Sylvia watched her go, her heart sinking. When she turned back to Carol, she found her still staring in the direction her daughter had taken. “Thank you for looking after the campers while we’re gone, Carol.”

“She’s always running away from me,” Carol said, her voice distant. “I fear for her. She’s more like me than she’ll ever admit, and I’m afraid Matt will turn out to be just like her father.”

“But isn’t that a good thing? Sarah has nothing but praise for your late husband.”

Carol looked embarrassed, as if Sylvia had caught her thinking aloud. “No. You don’t understand. She never knew my husband, not really, not the man I knew.”

Too astonished to speak, Sylvia could only stare at her, until Carol rose and went inside the manor. When Carol was gone, Sylvia sank into one of the chairs.

She felt very old as she sat there waiting for Sarah, each regret weighing heavily on her heart. Nothing about Carol’s visit had turned out the way Sylvia had planned. Usually it was such a joy to welcome new friends to Elm Creek Manor, to hear the foyer ringing with laughter and feel the guests’ delight as they looked forward to a week of quilting together. As she had many times before, Sylvia wondered what Claudia would think about the manor’s transformation. Remembering the hollow, echoing halls she had found on returning to the manor after her long absence, Sylvia knew that the change was for the better.

Sarah had brought all this about, proving that she was capable of great things. Now, if only the young woman would work a few more changes in her own heart.

Before long Sarah came downstairs dressed in a light blue suit, but Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to mention the disagreement with Carol. Sarah drove them downtown to the municipal building, where they met Diane and the other Elm Creek Quilters in the hallway outside the council hearing room. Sylvia almost didn’t recognize Diane’s two sons, freshly scrubbed and dressed in sport coats and neatly pressed slacks. As the boys talked with their father, the Elm Creek Quilters tried to ease Diane’s nervousness by chatting about anything other than the hearing. Soon the conversation turned to the upcoming end of the school year, which all but Diane eagerly welcomed. “You try looking after two teenage boys for three solid months,” she said when they teased her for complaining.

“I did, plus a daughter,” Bonnie said.

“That’s different. You didn’t have my two.” Diane shot Gwen a look.

“And don’t you say a word. Everyone knows Summer is the world’s most perfect child.”

“Not really,” Summer said hastily, looking embarrassed.

“Diane’s right, for once.” Gwen put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “And believe me, I know how lucky I am.” Her voice trembled.

“Oh, no, Mom, not again.”

“I can’t help it.” Gwen dug in her pocket for a tissue. She wiped her eyes, laughing at herself. “My baby’s growing up and going away. You can’t expect me to take this calmly.”

“Your baby’s twenty-two,” Summer pointed out. “I’m an adult, and I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Bonnie said, too late, as Gwen began to sniffle in earnest.

“Now you’ve done it,” Diane said to Summer. “You should never say, or even imply, that you no longer need your mother’s help.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Summer’s right.” Gwen smiled through her tears and hugged her daughter, hard. “I’m proud of her independence. I want her to be able to look out for herself without me—that’s always been what I wanted most for her. I’m going to be the happiest, most grateful mother on campus the day I drop her off at Penn.”

Diane touched Summer on the arm. “If she’s going to carry on like this, maybe you should drive.”

Summer pulled away from her mother. “Mom, about that—”

“Don’t worry, I was only kidding. I know you’ll want to drive yourself.” Gwen brushed a strand of Summer’s long auburn hair out of her face and smiled. “I wouldn’t embarrass you in front of all the other grad students in your department.”

“It’s not that. I—”

“Better quit while you’re ahead, or she’ll be walking you to your first class as if she were dropping you off for your first day of kindergarten,” Diane advised. Gwen laughed, and after a moment’s hesitation, Summer joined in.

Sylvia stole a glance at Sarah and found her watching Summer and Gwen wistfully.

Just then the court clerk opened the door and summoned them into the room. Diane, Tim, and the two boys entered first, the Elm Creek Quilters close behind. The zoning commissioners sat at a long, raised table at one end of the room, and as Sylvia took a seat with her friends in the row of chairs behind the Sonnenbergs, she caught a glimpse of Mary Beth, Diane’s next-door neighbor, seating herself on the other side of the aisle. She was the rude woman responsible for stirring up all this trouble. Sylvia frowned at her, but Mary Beth didn’t notice.

The exemption hearing lasted less than an hour. Diane and Tim presented their appeal, including facts such as the report Summer had found about a similar case in Sewickley, but in the end, Mary Beth’s petition and the long-standing ordinances restricting recreational construction in their historic neighborhood swayed the commission’s decision. They ruled against the Sonnenberg family, five votes to two, with one abstaining.

The boys were shocked by the loss, which Sylvia found heartbreaking. Diane accepted the Elm Creek Quilters’ hugs and condolences, ignored Mary Beth’s smug glare, and nodded when Tim murmured that it was time to go. She took each of her sons by the hand and left the municipal building with her chin up. Watching her, Sylvia felt a surge of pride for her friend. The Sonnenbergs had not won, but they had not been beaten, either.

On the drive back to the manor, Sylvia and Sarah talked about Diane’s predicament and wondered if she had any other options. Sylvia was at a loss for suggestions. Besides, her meddling hadn’t done anyone any good lately, so perhaps it would be best if she kept her ideas to herself.

Later that evening, Sylvia was too frustrated to sleep. Alone, she wandered outside through the back door of the manor and sat on the steps, watching the sun set through the trees. Their branches were covered with so many leaves that she could hardly make out the barn anymore, unlike that winter day several months ago when she had looked out on this same scene from the kitchen window. That was the day she had phoned Sarah’s mother and put her misguided reconciliation plan into motion. How arrogant she had been to think that she could heal the rift between those two stubborn, deeply hurt women.

Gradually darkness fell over Elm Creek Manor, and a cool breeze began to stir. Sylvia wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill. Andrew’s motor home was dark. She wondered if he was sleeping or if he was sitting awake as she was, thinking of his wife or his two children. His daughter had phoned earlier that day to ask Andrew when she should expect him. Sylvia didn’t know what he had told her. Perhaps he would pack his suitcase in the morning and leave right after breakfast. Sylvia felt a pang at the thought, but she knew he had obligations to his family. Already he had stayed longer than he had intended, and surely he was running out of things to do. How many times could he go trout fishing with Matt before he tired of it? How many picnics in the north gardens could one man possibly bear? She was no charmer, she knew that. She had too many sharp corners and brittle edges, not like Claudia and Agnes, beautiful and charming in very different ways. Or at least they had been. The Agnes of fifty years ago had merged in Sylvia’s mind with the woman she knew today, but Claudia would forever remain a young woman not yet thirty, beautiful and bossy and alive, just as she had been when Sylvia last saw her.